


Bad love will make a museum of you

by angelichl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Astronomy, BDSM, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dildos, Exhibitionism, Fucking Machines, Harry in Lingerie, Harry in Panties, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Painplay, Porn Star Harry, Porn with Feelings, Predicament Bondage, Rope Bondage, Stargazing, Subspace, Whipping, Winter, if I forgot anything please tell me!, it's minor though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 08:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12678390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelichl/pseuds/angelichl
Summary: Harry Styles, who works a few odd jobs to pay for grad school, also stars in porn videos. Whenever he does BDSM, he needs a friend to accompany him for safety reasons.Thus, he asks his classmate and sort-of friend, Louis.





	Bad love will make a museum of you

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this in the notes of my phone for a while, sooooo I decided to finally post it. And here we are!
> 
> As a general warning, the original male character is the man producing the video Harry takes part in, and they have penetrative sex (while Louis watches??? Yes. There is angst. What a wild story). But there is no mutual attraction between the OMC and Harry. Also, there's a lack of aftercare between the two, but Louis fixes that by taking care of Harry and getting him home safely.
> 
> If you have any specific questions about triggers/warnings, or anything in general, please don't be afraid to ask! I love to talk :)
> 
>  
> 
> [Find me here (tumblr)](http://angelichl.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Reblog the fic post](http://angelichl.tumblr.com/post/167359679554/bad-love-will-make-a-museum-of-you-by-angelichl)
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading! All comments are appreciated. Don't be shy <3
> 
> P.S. If you see any typos or mistakes please tell me. Thanks!

_BAD LOVE_  
_WILL MAKE_  
_A MUSEUM_  
_OF YOU_

—Jillian Fleck

 

Two guys are walking up the stairs to the entrance of a shady warehouse on an unassuming Wednesday night, right in the middle of a dreary January. One of them is wearing lingerie beneath his joggers and clutching a rainbow stuffed animal shaped like a llama. The other is Louis Tomlinson.

 

So. How the hell did he end up here?

 

It goes something like this, simple but baffling: his friend is a porn star, and he needs someone to accompany him when he does BDSM. For safety reasons and all that. This is his first time, and he didn’t know who to ask. So he asked Louis.

 

Why Louis is somehow the obvious choice? Well, Louis isn’t sure. They don’t know each other very well—definitely not enough for Louis to watch him fuck a stranger for money. But then again, does anyone ever really know someone well enough to do that?

 

Harry once said that Louis makes him feel safe. Maybe that’s it. That has to be it.

 

When they reach the heavy, rusted iron door, Harry makes to grab the handle. And then, all of the sudden, he stops abruptly, effectively blocking the entrance.

 

“What?” Louis asks, perplexed and antsy. He wants to get this over with, so he can go back to his flat and forget about the millions of friendship boundaries this strange occurrence is completely ignoring—obliterating, even. His hands are shaking from nerves and discomfort but he pretends it’s from the cold and shoves them inside his pockets.

 

Unassuming just like the Wednesday night, snowflakes drift lazily around them and get caught in Harry’s eyelashes.

 

“Um, before we go in…”

 

“Harry, I know, it’s fine. Sex and all that, no worries. I know what I signed up for.” Louis’ attempt at casual confidence falls flat, and his voice is slightly shrill. He feels really keyed up, for that fact that _he knows what he signed up for and it isn’t good_.

 

Harry covers his face with his hands and groans. “I know you know that. I’m not worried about that. It’s just, like—well, this is just. Not. Normal? And I know you’ll be really uncomfortable, but I want you to know that a lot of it isn’t real? Like, some of it is, but a lot of it is just. Me being dramatic. Because that’s what I get paid to do. So yeah…”

 

“Alright, go it,” Louis affirms, but he isn’t really certain what Harry’s saying. Whatever. He’ll find out soon enough. “Let’s just go inside.”

 

The warehouse is expansive, and… empty. Except for the far corner, where Louis can just barely make out a man standing there, fiddling with a tripod. Louis trails behind Harry, hands jammed into his pockets, hesitant and uncertain.

 

The man greets Harry boisterously when he sees them approaching, giving him a big, raunchy hug and unabashedly groping his ass. If it bothers Harry, he doesn’t show it.

 

“So you brought your boyfriend along to watch?” The man asks when they detach.

 

“Just a friend,” Harry clarifies, shrugging off his coat and tossing it on the floor. He sets the stuffed animal gently on top of it and then clasps his hands together. “What’s first?”

 

“Predicament bondage and whips. I started setting up over there, but I have to do the camera now. Wanna get your friend to tie you up? It’ll make this go faster.”

 

Harry turns to Louis, expectantly. Louis’ mind is still reeling as he wonders if predicament bondage is exactly what the name implies. He should’ve done research before this, or something.

 

“That okay with you?” Harry asks gently.

 

“Uhh, sure, I don’t really know what I’m doing though.”

 

“Harry’ll talk you through it, right love?” The man says, voice on the verge of condescending. Louis decides right then and there he doesn’t like this man.

 

Now is when Harry peels his shirt off and tosses it to the pile of his other things. Louis looks away, creating the semblance of privacy, even though privacy really doesn’t exist at all in this situation. One more item of clothing hits the floor—he can tell from the sound, because he is sure as hell not looking—and he can only assume they’re Harry’s joggers.

 

And then, oh. Louis is supposed to be tying Harry up. Right. He chances a glance, and feels a lump in his throat when his eyes land on Harry. Because he’s wearing petal pink lingerie, and he just looks beautiful.

 

Louis follows Harry over to where a strange array of ropes are hanging ominously from the wooden beams on the ceiling, all the while staring at Harry’s ass. His skin is pale and pretty like snow, and the soft lace over his bum is just… a lot.

 

“Right, so, use the stool and tie my wrists first. It needs to be tight enough that it can support my weight,” Harry directs, assuming position. He faces Louis, standing on the tips of his toes and raising his arms straight above his head.

 

Louis follows orders, stepping up onto the stool and taking the thick rope in his hands. He ties it around Harry’s wrists as instructed, then asks if it’s tight enough.

 

To test it out, Harry lifts his feet of the ground until he’s hanging by just his arms. The ropes hold. “Perfect,” he comments with a sweet smile—decidedly too sweet for the events that are soon to follow.

 

“What next?”

 

“Ankles. There’s hooks on the ground.” Harry spreads his legs, remaining on the very tips of his toes and gently swaying back and forth, most of his weight suspended from his arms by the rope. It looks very, very uncomfortable.

 

“Got it,” Louis responds weakly, attempting to ignore that way the muscles in Harry’s thighs and calves twitch and strain. He bends down, grasps his smooth ankle in his hands, and ties it to the hook embedded into the floor. Once the second one is done he stands up again, pretending his friend isn’t almost-naked in front of him, tied up with rope and about to do god-knows-what. “That all?”

 

“Um. One more thing,” Harry drawls, voice quiet and uneasy, and from the second Louis glances at him he can see the heat rising to his cheeks.

 

“What is it?”

 

“The hook, um, behind me.”

 

“Ah.” Louis had been wondering about that. Behind Harry, a dull, metal hook pointed upwards is suspended from a rope wrapped around the beam on the ceiling. “I’m assuming this…” and then he trails off, not willing to say it out loud.

 

“Right.” Then, “shit—I forgot about the plug.”

 

“Oh.” Louis stands there behind Harry, eyes wide, bewildered.

 

“Um, could you..?”

 

“Yeahh, sure…” Louis closes his eyes, steeling himself away to gain even an ounce of courage. When he opens them back up, his eyes focus on the sight in front of him: Harry, tied up and waiting, smooth skin on display, petal pink panties making him look so, so beautiful.

 

Louis takes a deep, audible breath before gently tugging down the panties. There, nestled into Harry, is a shiny metal plug, warmed up from his skin. Louis reaches and carefully pulls it out, no shame or embarrassment. Yet Harry’s small intake of breath, when the largest part of the toy tugs on his hole, startles him. He sets it on a towel on the floor and then returns to Harry.

 

“And then the hook just—“ Harry begins, sounding slightly more dazed than he was just moments ago. Louis pulls the metal over, waiting until Harry’s completely on the very tips of his toes before he eases it into his hole. When Harry relaxes, it sinks further into him, and he winces. Louis can only guess how uncomfortable it is.

 

“All good?”

 

“Yep,” he responds, voice choked. Louis frowns, sympathetic and somewhat concerned.

 

So this is _predicament bondage_ —exactly as the name suggests. Physically, Harry is in a predicament. Right now, he’s standing on his toes, which is quite physically demanding. Eventually his muscles will become fatigued, and he’ll have no choice but to stand normally, thus sinking down onto the metal hook and having it impale him further. Plus, when he does that, all of his weight is held up by the ropes wrapped to his wrists, putting a ton of stress on his shoulders. It is not a comfortable situation.

 

And yet, when Louis rounds Harry to go stand somewhere else, he catches sight of Harry’s crotch. He’s hard, his dick pink and leaking onto his hip, poking out the top of his panties. Meaning… he’s turned on by this. Well, good for him. If Louis was in his position, he would’ve run screaming from the warehouse ages ago.

 

“Ready?” the man asks now, approaching the scene with his camera attached to the tripod finally.

 

“Yess,” Harry responds, wiggling his toes and making eye contact with Louis. Louis, as a result, takes a seat against the wall and wonders what he’s going to do with himself for the next hour or so. Good god.

 

“Whip first,” the man informs, and that’s when Louis sees the object in his hand. And then he just kind of wants to vomit? Basically, yes. It makes him physically sick. “Aaaand, recording… now.”

 

The first lash startles Louis so much he jumps, and he isn’t even the one receiving the blow. Harry flinches too, crying out loudly as the whip hits his back. Many more lashes follow in quick succession, and they have Harry screaming.

 

Louis pulls his knees to his chest, wishing he had Harry’s stuffed animal with him right now. Anything for any sort of comfort. The only thing Louis is relieved about is the fact that he discovered he isn’t turned on by sadism, so that’s nice. He’s also learned that Harry is a masochist, which is, well. Interesting. Louis really isn’t into that kind of stuff at all, and it makes him feel sick just thinking about the pain Harry is experiencing right in this very moment.

 

Two weeks ago, when Louis was at Harry’s flat, working on a partner project for their Bio 211 course, Harry had asked Louis to accompany him today. Louis had known Harry did porn occasionally for the extra cash, so it wasn’t _so_ shocking, but still.

 

The premise was that Harry needed someone to come with him, because there was no way in hell he would let a stranger tie him up, without someone being there to make sure nothing went wrong. Louis had agreed, mainly because he felt pressured because Harry was asking him one-on-one, and how could he say no?  But also because he had this deep, unexplainable feeling within himself to make sure Harry—this boy he didn’t even know very well—was safe. So.

 

Harry lasts ten entire minutes standing on his toes and swaying with every stroke of the whip before his muscles give out and he sinks down onto the heels. When the hook enters him deep, no doubt uncomfortably and incessantly pressing against his prostate, he whines loudly.

 

The man lashes his bum and his thighs a good amount more before working his way to the front and whipping Harry’s chest. From here, Louis can clearly see the bright red welts rising on Harry’s snowy skin, hot and angry, painful. Louis himself winces when Harry’s nipples are hit, and he squeaks out a small but excruciating protest. If Louis had any sanity, he would put a stop to this right now.

 

But Harry had promised him that even if he was screaming and crying _no_ , it meant he was okay. _Part of the fun is not wanting it_ , he had explained. Louis still doesn’t exactly follow his line of reasoning, but it doesn’t matter. Harry promised he would shout the word “kiwi” if he was really hurt and needed Louis to step it. Louis can only pray now that Harry remembers the safe word.

 

The hits to Harry’s dick, still covered by the thin lacey fabric of his panties, cause tears to stream down his face as he screams and cries. Still, Louis is amazed to see Harry fully hard and turned on. _Insane_.

 

On top of it all, the man is saying really, really gross, awful things. Calling Harry a _faggot_ , for one. It makes Louis feel nauseous, and he tries to block out the deep, commanding voice of the man dressed all in black, inflicting pain on someone Louis cares about.

 

Finally, after what seems like hours but is only really twenty minutes, the man stops, and Louis sighs in relief. Harry sways, dangling from his arms, having given up trying to remain on his toes, for his muscles were too exhausted.

 

“You wanna untie him while I set up the next bit, love?”

 

The man calling Louis love, in a vaguely patronizing way, makes Louis sick all over again. “Sure.”

 

Very gently, with shaky hands, he unties Harry’s ankles and moves them back to below his hips, so his legs aren’t spread out anymore. Harry doesn’t even attempt to rise to his toes—he just hangs complacently crying silently. Louis wants to untie him and then wrap him up in his arms and never let go. He wants to kiss all over the welts on his skin, wants to make the pain go away.

 

Instead, he slowly removes the hook from Harry’s bum, as gently as he can. Harry whines despite his arduous efforts to make is as painless as possible. Then he rises up on the stool and quickly unties the knot on Harry’s wrists, fumbling with how shaky he is.

 

Finally Harry is released. He slumps against Louis, and Louis holds him in his arms, heart pounding.

 

“You good?” he asks quietly, setting his hands on Harry’s hips to steady him, so he doesn’t topple over. Harry rests his face on Louis’ neck and inhales slowly.

 

“Mhmm,” he purrs, voice deep as it always is, but _broken_ in a way. God.

 

“Alright, over here,” the man calls, and Louis has no choice but to guide Harry over to the man.

 

There’s the table he saw when they entered the warehouse, with handcuffs and ankle cuffs on the edges. Louis helps Harry up, getting him situated, and trying to make sure he isn’t lying uncomfortably on his dick. Then he ties him again.

 

The way he’s lying now on his tummy, his legs are spread wide, exposing his bum. Louis swallows forcibly, and looks away as the man approaches, hauling a machine behind him.

 

Jesus. Louis has seen one of these before, one time when he went with his friends to an adult store last year, on a night when they were drunk and silly. It’s a fucking machine, essentially a machine that has a dildo attached to it, and when you turn it on it punches in and out. They’re really expensive, and frankly improbable, except for in porn apparently.

 

The man adjusts his camera, then drizzles the smallest bit of lube over the large, intimidating dildo. It is _definitely_ not enough lube, if he wants that monstrous thing to fit in Harry’s tiny, pink hole. Which means, it’s going to be very painful. Exactly what the man is going for. Exactly what Harry signed up for. Right.

 

For the millionth time this night, Louis feels sick enough to hurl.

 

“Recording in three, two…” and then he turns the machine on, and the dildo protrudes, slowly and shallowly breaching Harry’s entrance. He cries out, screaming that _it hurts_.

 

Still, he isn’t saying the safe word. Louis bites the inside of his cheek, willing himself to keep his mouth shut. Everything is fine. Harry is fine.

 

The man turns up the speed on the machine, and the dildo moves faster and deeper. With every thrust, Harry screams, and moans, and cries.

 

This goes on for an awful, uncomfortable amount of time. Harry comes three times within the span of forty-five minutes straight of being fucked into by a very large, barely lubed dildo, and Louis is both sickened and slightly impressed. When Harry quiets down, reduced to nearly silent sobs, Louis realizes he is coming for the third time, making a mess on the table and himself.

 

The man lets the machine run for twenty thrusts more, and Louis can’t even begin to imagine how uncomfortable that must feel. After you come, your body becomes so unbelievably sensitive, and the last thing you want is for something very large to continue to thrust in and out of you. Harry’s cries are definitely not without reason.

 

Finally, he turns the machine off. Harry cries Harry, now sounding less like his breath is being punched out of him with every thrust.

 

“Last part right now. Set him up while I get the camera?”

 

“Sure,” Louis allows, standing up and approaching Harry. He lies still and pliant on the table, unable to move because of the ropes tying him in place. There are bright red raised lines all down his back, his bum, his thighs, and a few of them even have purple bruises blooming beneath the lacerations.

 

Harry’s cheek is pressed to the table, a puddle of tears below it. His eyes are bloodshot and wide, but tired. Fearful, too. His hair is sweaty and messy. Louis runs a hand through it comfortingly, wordlessly, and then gets to work untying his wrists.

 

When Harry’s hands are free, he doesn’t move. He just lies still like he has been for the past few minutes, and waits patiently as Louis heads over to his ankles. On the way there, Louis caringly rubs his back in a spot where there aren’t any red marks, and Harry hums encouragingly. Louis does it a few more times before he unties Harry’s legs and helps him off the cold metal table.

 

“You sure you’re okay?” Louis asks again, extremely concerned. Harry just nods this time, and looks away.

 

As it turns out, the third and final part of this sickening play is the worst. The most despicable.

 

The man sets Harry up for this one, ordering Louis to get out of the way. He presses record on the camera and then throws Harry down to the ground, harshly. Harry’s face smacks the cement floor, and he moans. Louis is less than a second from stepping in, but Harry still isn’t saying the goddamn safe word, so Louis refrains.

 

After that, the man hooks Harry to a spreader bar—a metal bar that goes between his knees, spreading his legs wide open. Presumably so he’s easier to fuck, and he can’t move away. Can’t escape. The bar has a long chain that attaches to it and ties to a collar. When the man put the collar around Harry’s neck, Harry shivers. He tugs, and Harry gasps.

 

This way, Harry’s face is pressed to the dirty warehouse floor, his arms tied behind his back, bum in the air. The man hits his ass, hard enough that the sound of palm against skin echoes in the empty, expansive room. Harry whines, but doesn’t scream. And he doesn’t cry until the man pulls his dick out and shoves into Harry’s ass. No lube, no warning. Louis wants to pummel him into the ground, screaming bloody murder.

 

Louis has to close his eyes. It’s too much. Too awful. Too horrifying. Seeing Harry there, contorted in an inhuman way, treated like an animal. Cheek pressed to the concrete like submission and shame. Body covered in red welts, the remnants of the torture that proceeded this heinous act. Reduced to something less than human. Something unworthy of being treated like anything other than a sex object.

 

And then there’s the man, looking like he’s in his late forties, early fifties, fucking into Harry, enjoying the pained screams he’s enticing out of him. It’s gross, so gross. Sweet Harry, beautiful and pure and precious. Reduced to a slave. Reduced to a body to beat on, a hole to fuck.

 

He cries loudly, messily, pathetically. There is no way in hell he’s enjoying this, Louis is certain. From his spot against the wall, Louis can see Harry’s dick is soft and flaccid, a result of the many orgasms he already experienced. There is no well in hell Harry is receiving any pleasure at all right now.

 

But yet he doesn’t dare utter the safe word. So Louis has no choice but to sit and wait. And Harry has a choice, but he chooses to remain with his cheek pressed against the dirty warehouse floor, salty tears streaming down his face, a disgusting man taking away his innocence. That’s all. That’s what it is.

 

When the man comes, he comes loudly, moaning obnoxiously, face screwed up in an unattractive expression of pleasure. He fills Harry with his come, smacks his bum hard one more time, and then finally pulls out.

 

He wipes himself with a towel, shoving his dick back into his pants and smiling like the cat who caught a mouse. When he throws the rag at Louis, Louis catches it, disgusted. “Why the fuck—“

 

“Clean him up, will you?” The man interrupts, already fiddling with his camera. “I have to put all this shit away.”

 

Louis grimaces, but goes to Harry nonetheless. The faster he gets him out of this spine-twisting, neck-aching position, the better.

 

A rapidly as he can, he unties the knots holding Harry’s hands behind his back. When he lets them go, Harry slowly pulls them away from his back and down to the floor, pressing his palms to the ground. Louis takes the rag and wipes Harry’s bum, trying his best to clean up the come and minimal amounts of lube. He takes extra care around Harry’s entrance, knowing he must be insanely sore. Then he unhooks the chain from the collar on Harry’s neck, and unlocks his ankles from the spreader bar.

 

Harry slumps to the ground, collar still on, and sobs.

 

“Honey…” Louis breathes, falling to his knees beside him. Carefully, he pulls Harry up so he’s resting on his lap, and then he strokes his hair comfortingly. “Are you alright? What do you need?”

 

He doesn’t respond, just sinks into Louis’ touch and cries harder. Louis looks to the man, bewildered and unsure of what to do.

 

“Um, what’s going on? Is he okay?”

 

“They do that a lot,” the man says calmly like it’s no big deal, not even looking up from his camera. “It’s a sub thing—they do this a lot after the scene. It’s called subspace, Google it.”

 

Louis wants to tear the man’s snarky head off. Wants to set him on fire, or something. As an alternative, he cradles Harry in his arms and tries to get him to stop crying.

 

Harry must’ve planned for this, since he brought his stuffed animal. Louis regrettably pulls away to retrieve it, and when he gets back to Harry he pulls him fully into his lap and hands him the llama. Harry must’ve planned for this, but he failed to mention it to Louis. Which is just. Great.

 

“You’re a dom though, shouldn’t you help him? Shouldn’t you know what to do?” Louis asks angrily, voice barely below a shout.

 

“Isn’t this why he brought you here though? For the aftercare?”

 

Louis groans, looking at Harry completely complacent, unresponsive, and sobbing in Louis’ arms. “He never fucking said anything about this.”

 

“Well it’s simple. Just make sure he gets home safe. I have to go now—the money’s in an envelope by the window. It’s all there, you can count it. Nine hundred dollars.”

 

Louis doesn’t believe him. He gets up and checks, and counts each bill. Nine hundred. He eyes the man, untrusting.

 

The man smirks, calling out, “thanks for the fun, hope your boyfriend’s okay,” before stalking away.

 

Louis, for the billionth time, has to resist the urge to puke.

 

“Alright Harry,” he says softly, hands on his hips. “Let’s get you dressed, and then we’ll go home. Sound good?”

 

Harry mumbles something unintelligible, so Louis takes that as a yes. He struggles to get Harry joggers back on, and his t-shirt too. The coat is easier. The boots are too. Then Louis picks up Harry’s pale pink panties from the floor, when the man threw them on the floor before fucking him. They’re ripped, can’t be fixed, and for some reason this makes Louis very angry. He shoves the ruined lingerie in the pocket of his coat, then lifts Harry and the stuffed animal off the ground.

 

He tugs Harry’s hat onto his head, grabs the money, and takes one last look at the empty warehouse before booking it out of there.

 

He never wants to come back.

 

 

 

 

+

 

 

 

 

Once he’s gotten Harry situated on the passenger’s seat in the car, seatbelt on, he turns the heat up full blast and hands the llama back to Harry.

 

“Thank you,” his deep voice responds, hoarse and raspy.

 

“You okay?” Louis asks, _again_ , relieved that Harry is finally responsive enough to speak.

 

“Yeah. Just… Yeah…”

 

Louis reaches out his hand over the center console, palm up, hoping Harry will take it. He does, grasping it readily, making Louis smile when he squeezes it, presumably to show he’s okay.

 

“Thanks for doing this for me. I’m sorry that was so awful…”

 

Louis smiles sadly, eyes on the road because it’s so icy and he needs to pay close attention. “I just don’t like seeing you in pain.”

 

“Sorry… I just—I don’t know. I can’t explain it, it’s just like… It, turns me on—I guess? Like, I just, um… like the idea? Of being abused..?” He sounds like he’s about to cry. “I know it’s really weird… I’m sorry—“

 

“It’s fine, honey,” Louis interrupts, desperate to cut Harry off before he travels down the self-deprecating path. “Everyone has their things, you know? I mean, I, um…” He searches for a moment to come up with a good example. “I like fucking in places I shouldn’t. Like public restrooms and stuff. See? Everyone has their things.”

 

When Louis glances over at Harry, his lip is quivering. Then a bunch of tears spill over his bottom lids, and he blinks frantically to stop them, but they drop one after the other. If Louis wasn’t driving, he would wrap Harry in his arms and never let go.

 

Upon parking at Harry’s flat, Harry invites Louis inside. Louis obliges, especially since he was already planning on going in to make sure Harry was okay, anyways.

 

“Is it okay if I shower?” Harry asks once they’re inside, hesitantly playing with the sleeve of his coat.

 

“Of course! I have a bit a revising to do, so. I’ll just be here when you get out. Okay?”

 

“Thank you, Lou. Seriously, I appreciate it so much. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

 

Louis laughs lightly, even though the moment feels heavy. He reaches out to ruffle Harry’s hair, since he learned today it’s something he likes. “No problem, kiddo.”

 

While Harry’s in the shower, Louis settles down on the couch and gets comfy beneath a blanket. He pulls his textbook and notes out of his bag, beginning to study. Harry’s flat is cozy and neat, but chilly, and he has to bundle beneath the blanket to keep warm. Snowflakes flutter lazily but frequently outside, and from his spot on the couch Louis has a perfect view of the winter storm outside.

 

Halfway through the first of seven chapters he needs to have memorized for an exam tomorrow, Louis gets bored and decides to investigate Harry’s kitchen, searching for tea. He hopes Harry won’t mind.

 

The sound of soft, bare footsteps against the wooden floor persuades him to turn around. It’s Harry of course, standing there wrapped in a fluffy white towel, hair dripping, eyes red and puffy. Crying, of course.

 

“What’s wrong, love?”

 

Harry sniffles and looks embarrassed, gaze shifting to his bare feet.

 

“C’m’ere,” Louis beckons, opening his arms welcomingly. He wraps Harry up tight when he falls into him. “Seriously, Harry, what’s wrong?”

 

“I’m so ashamed…” he whispers into the quiet stillness, mouth brushing against Louis’ collarbone with the way he’s crouched down and curling into Louis.

 

“Okay, none of that, Harry, seriously. Let’s get you dressed, and then we can talk, okay?”

 

In his bedroom, Harry sits on the bed and gazes on as Louis searches through his wardrobe for the softest, comfiest pajamas. He settles on a pair of plaid bottoms and an oversized jumper. It’s funny, how a few hours ago Louis was mortified to see Harry’s nakedness. Now he’s barely batting a lash—though, his heart does _flip_ in his chest when his eyes land on the soft pudge on Harry’s hips, and he wants nothing more than to slowly run his hands along the warm skin.

 

The two observations that really get to Louis are first the softness to Harry’s waist, and then when he turns around, the beautiful bumps of his spine. Each aspect is so precious and unique just to Harry that Louis feels a gut-wrenching pull in his stomach, and an ache in his heart. The primal, innate urge to wrap the small, cute, innocent creature in his arms arises gradually. He stands aghast at the strong desire to _protect_ him.

 

Distractedly, Louis looks away, and dares his mind to think of something else. Anything else. Anything but the sneaking drive to cuddle Harry in his arms.

 

Finally Harry is dressed. He falls back into the bed and curls up, wrapping the duvet around him. Louis sits on the edge until Harry tugs him down with him, and then they’re lying together atop the duvet, sinking deep into the pillow-top mattress.

 

“Why are you ashamed?” Louis whispers, questioning, their faces centimeters apart. Sharing breaths.

 

Harry blinks slowly, eyelashes fluttering. Deep in thought. Eventually he looks like he’s about to say something, but he bites his lip instead. Like he’s afraid to say it. Like he’s ashamed of it.

 

“You can tell me anything,” Louis reminds him gently. It’s much too intimate, especially for two classmates who know each other only from friends of friends, and the one partner project they were assigned to work on. It’s much too intimate, but a million things that have happened tonight were much too intimate, so Louis thinks it’s okay. “You know I’m not judgmental.”

 

Louis’ soft words, spoken like a whisper, persuade Harry into opening up. He starts slowly at first, fumbling over his words, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. But he gets there. He explains, slowly, and Louis listens, intently. Just the two of them, on an unassuming Wednesday night, curled up in bed and sharing some of the deepest parts of themselves.

 

Harry has been doing porn for almost two years now. His main reason is because he needs the funds for study abroad next year, but he’s also motivated by the personal truth that he enjoys it. Porn is like a mix of exhibitionism and risk all wrapped in one, and that’s part of what gets him off.

 

But more than that, he’s ashamed because he believes that his bedroom desires are completely out of sync with his actual desires, and the dissonance frightens him. Humiliates him. Makes him hate that part of himself that wants these twisted, wicked things.

 

_I’m not submissive. I don’t want to be_ , he tells Louis ardently. He believes in equality and fairness and freedom, rather than one person owning another person, ordering them around, and having power over that person. He doesn’t want to be submissive, compliant, docile. He doesn’t want to be in a relationship with anyone who believes he is lesser.

 

Yet, his body doesn’t get the memo. What turns him on is drastically different from his personal values and his life aspirations. In the bedroom he wants to be tied up and used, abused, objectified. He wants to be screamed at, called horrifying names. He wants to believe that sex defiles him—and he wants to be defiled. He wants to be possessed, turned into an object. He wants to exist solely for the sexual gratification of another.

 

Louis can understand why Harry feels guilty, but he also knows it isn’t right. Sex and roleplay isn’t reality, and it shouldn’t be treated as such. Just because Harry wants to be called _slave_ and _cocksucker_ and _faggot_ in the bedroom doesn’t mean he wants to be called those names out of it, in the real world. The same goes for his sexual desires, versus his real-life desires. They’re separate entities that exist independently of each other. Harry can be both submissive during sex and autonomous during the rest of the time, not dissonance created.

 

So Louis tells Harry as much, and more, trying his hardest to coax Harry into believing it. Because it’s the truth. Sexual wants and wishes have no weight on worldly wants and wishes.

 

“I’m afraid of getting stuck in a relationship with someone who treats me like that all the time though,” Harry confesses.

 

“Well, then you just have to find someone who understands you don’t want that all the time, though. Find someone who’s dominant in the bedroom but treats you like an equal everywhere else. That’s all.”

 

“It’s not that simple, though.”

 

Louis sighs. “I know it’s not. But you have to try.”

 

They stare at each other for a long while more, not saying anything. After talking for hours, Louis’ mouth is dry and his throat is sore. He really needs to go home to revise for his exam tomorrow, and try to get some, if any, sleep. But. He’d much rather be here, with Harry.

 

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” Harry whispers into the silence. Only the bedside lamp is on, and the room is cast in heavy shadows. Even still, Louis can see Harry’s eyes clearly, dark in the dim lighting.

 

“Of course. Glad I could help.”

 

“And for taking care of me, too…” he drawls, looking away from Louis’ gaze, fidgeting his hands and twiddling with the rainbow friendship bracelet on his wrist. The llama stuffed animal is still in his arms, squished to his chest as he holds onto it tightly, searching for artificial comfort. “A lot of people wouldn’t have been so careful with me. I really appreciate it.”

 

“Of course,” Louis repeats, heart feeling heavy thinking of what might’ve happened if Harry hadn’t asked Louis to come with him.

 

“You make me feel safe.” And his voice is heavy with meaning.

 

“I’m very glad. You make me want to make you feel safe,” he replies confusingly, but Harry seems to understand. He nods, smiling slightly.

 

“Please don’t go,” Harry whispers, voice lighter than a feather and nearly inaudible. Louis wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t been so close, only centimeters away from Harry.

 

“I’m sorry honey, I have an exam in the morning that I really need to do well on. But if you want I can stay until you fall asleep?”

 

Harry nods, whispering _thank you_. Louis helps him get situated beneath the blankets, tucking him in and resisting the urge to kiss his forehead. That is definitely crossing a line. He pets Harry’s hair instead, and laughs lightly, unbelievably endeared, when Harry nudges into the touch and nearly purrs like a kitten. Louis reaches behind him to turn off the lamp, and then everything is dark.

 

This is how they remain, with Louis carding his fingers through Harry’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and Harry all curled up and content, his breathing gradually slowing.

 

When he’s certain Harry is asleep, it’s hard for Louis to pull himself away. Again, he wants nothing more than to inch closer to the warm body next to him. To press their skin together and see if it would really feel as good as his mind is telling him it would. He wants to drown himself in Harry, to perish in the pure idealism of this unreal situation, in this picture-perfect archetype of safety and security. This true asylum from the rest of the word. He wants wants wants. So much, everything. But he can’t.

 

So he steels himself away. Slips from the bed. Bids Harry silent farewell. Retreats to the living room, gathers his things, and leaves.

 

Right. Time to study.

 

 

 

 

+

 

 

 

 

Louis sees Harry sooner than expected. As in, only twelve hours later.

 

“What are you doing here?” Louis asks, confused and pleasantly surprised. He just turned in his exam, right before the end of the testing period, and right when he walked out of the lecture hall he saw Harry standing there in the hallway, holding two Starbucks cups. When he sees Louis, his face lights up so much it’s almost painful to witness.

 

“Hey,” he greets cheerily. Much too cheery for nine in the morning. “Weren’t sure if you liked coffee or tea so I played it safe and brought you hot chocolate.”

 

“Wow.” Louis accepts the cup, awestruck, holding it in both hands to warm his cold fingers. “Very nice of you. What’s up? How did you find me?”

 

“I asked Niall.”

 

“God bless him,” Louis jokes, smiling so hard it hurts. Harry smiles right back, so bright it’s blinding.

 

“I just wanted to thank you again for yesterday. And I’m still thinking of ways to repay you, so…”

 

“Hot chocolate is payment enough. As I said, I’m glad I could help.”

 

Harry pouts, whining, “that was supposed to be my opening to asking you out.”

 

“Oh.” Louis stares at him, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Asking me out?” He parrots, voice squeaking. “As in, a date?”

 

“If you, um. Want?” Harry responds, shifting back and forth on his feet.

 

“Uhhhh…”

 

“Or it could just be like, us hanging out. Decidedly Not a Date. If that makes you more comfortable—” Harry rushes out, backtracking quickly.

 

“No—wait,” Louis nearly drops his hot chocolate trying to stop Harry before he revokes his date proposal. “What do you have in mind? For this date, I mean.”

 

“Ehmmm, have you ever been to a star party?”

 

“Oh, you mean like, astronomy club?”

 

Once a month, on a random night of the week, the astronomy club hosts an event at the planetarium, open-invite, and they drink wine and show off the new telescope the university funded last year. Everyone is invited, not just those who are in the club, and Louis has never been to one but he’s heard they’re fun. The astronomy-club members love to share their knowledge to anyone who will listen, and sometimes it’s nice to learn something new.

 

“Yeah, exactly. I’m, um. Co-president? Zayn is—Zayn is the other. But, um. Yeah. Tonight? Is the star party. There’s a meteor shower. Which is exciting… So. Yeah…”

 

“Cool. So when are you picking me up?”

 

Harry’s eyes widen comically. He splutters for a moment, and then closes his eyes, breathing in deeply. When he opens them he admits, “I didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

 

“Well, keep up, Styles.”

 

Harry smiles shyly, still nervously grasping his own hot chocolate cup between his hands, fiddling with the lid. “I can be at your apartment at eleven? I know it’s late but you know, stars and all that. Night sky. Yeah.”

 

“Sounds perfect. Will you put your number in my phone, then?”

 

“Absolutely,” Harry breathes, taking Louis’ phone from his hands and typing in his contact information. When he hands it back, Louis notices his hands are shaking.

 

Funny, how someone so confident, especially with sex and porn and everything he does, can be so insecure and afraid at the same time. Louis just wants to wrap Harry up in his arms and calm his nerves. That would be crossing boundaries, though, so instead he pockets his phone and grasps one of Harry’s hands. He doesn’t say anything about it, but when he looks over at Harry he sees him blushing.

 

“So where’re you headed?” Louis asks, changing the subject and decidedly not commenting on the rosy coloring to Harry’s cheeks. He loves to tease, but he doesn’t want Harry to feel uncomfortable or too embarrassed.

 

“Library,” he answers, squeezing Louis’ hand a little more confidently. “Big exam coming up, and I’m way behind because of work and all that so I really need to catch up.”

 

“Oh neat, I’m going to the library too! What class is the exam in?”

“Abnormal psychology. It’s a really, really cool class. But a lot of work, too.”

 

“Oh I’ve always wanted to take Ab Psych,” Louis muses, guiding them down the hallway and out of the statistics building. “I signed up for it last semester but it fills up quick, you know? Priority given to psych majors and all that. Oh, I don’t think I’ve asked, what’s your major?”

 

“Clinical psych with an emphasis on developmental learning, and a minor in Spanish. You’re a math major, right?”

 

“Yesss I am, although it’s funny when I think about it because I’ve never really liked math.”

 

Harry laughs, loud and unexpected. “Why are you a math major then?”

 

“Dunno,” Louis shrugs. “Though I wish I had a cool minor like you do.”

 

“Yeah, I love Spanish. The end goal is to be able to do therapy with people whose native language is Spanish. I think it’s really valuable, you know?”

 

“Definitely,” Louis chimes, deep in thought. “Wait, so if you’re going into clinical psych that means you have to go to grad school, right? To get your doctorate?”

 

“Yep,” Harry says, his smile silly. “That’s why I do—you know. So I won’t be in crippling debt once I get my degree. Plus, I wanna study in South America next semester, and the travel expenses are pretty bad. My financial aid covers the courses though.”

 

And that makes sense. Harry needs the money, so why not spend three hours of his Wednesday night tied up and being fucked by a dildo attached to a machine? Or beaten with a whip? Or hooked up to a spreader bar? He made nine hundred dollars, just like that. Easy. (Louis is only being kind of facetious.)

 

“I don’t know if I could ever do what you do,” Louis admits as they walk down the sidewalk. “Like last night, I mean. I feel like I would be fine with normal porn, but like, I dunno mate, BDSM is pretty intense.”

 

“It is,” Harry agrees. “But it wasn’t completely my first time doing it. I mean, it was for like actually making a video—I’ve never done a BDSM video before—but I was dating this guy last year who was into that, so. He kinda got me into it too, I guess. Some of the things yesterday I wish I enjoyed more, though—I’m not exactly a fan of the hook in my ass and all that. Or the spreader bar. Like, I feel like I would enjoy it more with someone else. I didn’t exactly like the guy last night.”

 

“Yeah, he didn’t seem like a good person. And he was old,” Louis wrinkles his nose. “Plus, he just kinda like, left you there after he came. Like his needs were the only needs that mattered. I don’t like that.”

 

“True, he was kind of a bad dom. Good at administering the punishment, but very lacking in the aftercare department. Though, if I remember correctly, you cared for me afterwards,” Harry says with a timid smile. “I was very out of it though; it might’ve been a fever dream. But if it was real, I really enjoyed you running your fingers through my hair.” He adds the last part hesitantly.

 

“I did pet your hair,” Louis confirms, opening the door to the library. “And I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

 

“Thank you,” Harry says, breathless. “I mean not just for that, but for coming with me and everything. I know it must’ve been really uncomfortable for you, especially since we don’t know each other very well, but I honestly couldn’t imagine asking anyone else.”

 

“Why not?” Louis asks, encouraging but not pressing.

 

“I don’t know,” Harry drifts, eyes falling to the floor as they enter the building. Luckily, the bottom level is the loudest, so they can have a conversation without interrupting anyone’s studying. However, as the floor level of the library increases, the amount of noise decreases. The top floor is so silent you could hear a pin drop. “I guess you just… don’t seem very judgmental, I guess? I mean, I’ve never heard you say anything unjustly critical about anyone. And you don’t make fun of me for the stupid shit I say and do, so. And you didn’t run away screaming when you found out I make porn, so.”

 

“True, I don’t judge.”

 

“Exactly. I really like that about you. I feel like I can be myself around you.”

 

“Definitely. You definitely can.”

 

The rest of the day is as wonderful as the morning is. Harry leads them to his usual study spot, a small nook on the third-floor, where there’s a table and very comfortable chairs beside a window that overlooks the quad. They study in silence for nearly three hours, occasionally looking up at each other at the same time and meeting eyes, laughing quietly at the coincidence.

 

Louis catches Harry staring a few times, but it’s pretty fair because Louis stares at Harry quite a lot too. What can he say? He can’t help it. Really, he can’t.

 

Harry is just so… bright. That’s the word to describe it. Bright and lively and vivacious, and it’s this that makes him beautiful. His cheeriness, his charisma. His timidity, which gives way to surprising confidence as he becomes more and more comfortable and open with Louis.

 

It’s his brightness, and his softness. Just his genuine compassion and empathy. The way he wants the best, for everyone. The personification of kindness.

 

Louis sighs, looking at Harry from across the polished wooden table. Right now, he’s reading a passage in his textbook, face set in true focus, brows furrowed. He’s leaning over the table, chin resting on his palm, dark eyes downcast on the words beneath him. In the bright natural light from the window, his bone structure is highlighted, illuminating the striking planes of his face. He bites his lip in deep concentration, and blinks slowly, before looking up at Louis.

 

“What’re you looking at?”

 

“You,” Louis whispers cheekily, stating the obvious.

 

Harry shakes his head, his dark eyes bright. “I have another question for you.”

 

“Shoot.”

 

“Would you ever consider making videos?”

 

What? Louis stares, lips slightly parted in shock. He tries to swallow away his surprise, but of course Harry sees it.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, I thought about it last night, and. There’s no reason why I don’t have my own channel, I guess. Like, I’m always in someone else’s videos, but I never make my own, and I definitely should. I have the camera for it and everything.” He shakes his head. “And then I was thinking that I wanted to do that, because the channel might end up being really successful. Especially if I have someone else with me. And then my mind went to you, so.”

 

“Are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”

 

“I mean, only if you want to. No obligations, no strings attached, all that. I know it’s weird, but it’s also a cheap, easy way to make cash.”

 

Louis laughs. “It is,” he agrees, feeling light and dizzy. The thought of sex with Harry is… a lot, to say the least. “I’ll definitely think about it.”

 

Harry smiles wide, like he’s been doing all morning. “Awesome. No pressure. And don’t be afraid to tell me no—I’ll totally understand.”

 

Louis sends one last grin to Harry before he caps his pen and stares down at his notes, needing to look away from the really cute boy across from him, because otherwise he thinks he’ll melt into a puddle on the floor.

 

There’s just. A lot going on right now.

 

 

 

 

+

 

 

 

 

Harry is at Louis’ apartment at eleven o’clock on the dot. Louis opens the door enthusiastically and dives in for a hug right away. Harry stumbles, but squeezes him tight nonetheless.

 

“Woah, someone’s happy.”

 

“I am,” Louis agrees. “This is my first star party.”

 

“And it’s gonna be a good one! We haven’t had a meteor shower in a long time. I’m so excited.”

 

They walk together to the planetarium and observatory, Harry wrapping his arm around Louis because it’s January and really fucking cold outside. The snow falls around them in perfect fluffy flakes, almost as if they’re in a snow globe.

 

At the planetarium, Harry greets a bunch of his friends and fellow club members, introducing them all to Louis, telling everyone who will listen, “This is Louis Tomlinson and it’s his first star party.” It makes Louis blush, face heated with embarrassment, but there’s also a fond feeling kindling in his chest, again making him feel dizzy. He follows Harry around as he flutters through the room, inarguably the most beautiful person in the entire gathering.

 

One of the club members puts on a planetarium show and they gather in the room, reclining on the comfy seats and staring up at the animated sky above them. Louis is in complete and utter awe. After that, he and Harry head to the observatory to use the telescope, but there’s a long line so Harry drags Louis outside.

 

“Do you wanna walk to the overlook? We can watch the meteor shower from there. My flat is on the way and we can grab the duvet from my bed, so we can lay down and not freeze to death.”

 

“Sounds good,” Louis chirps, agreeable and just happy to be in Harry’s presence.

 

The rest of the night is absolutely amazing.

 

They stop at Harry’s apartment like Harry said, literally ripping the duvet off his bed and hauling it all the way off campus, to the beautiful park full of running trails and scenic overlooks. They hike for a mile on a thin, woodsy path with only the flashlights of their phones to light the way.

 

Finally, they may it to the precipice, and Louis finds his breath is knocked out of him when he looks at the stars above.

 

“Wow,” he breathes quietly, soaking it all in. A million stars are laid out above him, and it’s almost as if a black sheet has been thrown over the world, and the little tiny holes poked into it cast glimpses of the pure fire on the other side. It’s breathtaking.

 

“I know right?” Harry whispers, moving rocks and sticks out of the way before lying the duvet on the dirt. He sits down and pats the spot next to him, Louis joining quickly. Then they lie down together and take in the stunning sight above them.

 

The meteors, falling through the sky, shine in bright bursts and twinkle like exploding stars. Louis scoots closer and finds he can’t contain his smile when Harry wraps his arms around him. It’s so cold, they’re shivering like crazy. But in Harry’s arms everything feels right.

 

Late in the night, when they go back to the observatory, only a few people are left, and there’s no longer a line for the telescope. Harry ushers Louis forward and guides him to look into the eyeglass, twisting a few dials to set the lenses in focus. He stands unnecessarily close behind Louis, his back to Louis’ front, hands on his shoulders as Louis excitedly reports everything he’s looking at.

 

“This is so cool!” Louis exclaims, for the millionth time, and when he turns around to give Harry a turn, he finds himself attacked by the softest, most enthusiastic lips he’s ever experienced. Harry kisses him hard, pressed against the very expensive telescope, bodies intertwined and entangled like the thread of fate.

 

As amazing as the entire day has been, Louis finds the kissing is the best part.

 

 

 

 

+

 

 

 

 

On Saturday, Louis has an answer for Harry. So, bravely, he texts him, _you still up for a video?_

 

Harry responds less than two minutes later, and enthusiastic _yes !!!_ flashing on Louis’ phone screen, followed by _when do you wanna do it ?_

 

They make plans for a few days later, when both of them are free. Louis finds himself waiting in anticipation, relatively sure he’s got himself caught in a precarious situation. But, he’s also certain it’ll be fun, at the very least. Anything with Harry is fun, he believes. So sex in front of a camera should be even better.

 

He arrives at Harry’s apartment dressed in comfy clothes, shivering from the cold. Harry tugs, still in his pajamas even though it’s almost five in the evening, and pulls him inside, burying Louis in a tight hug to warm him up.

 

Soon, they run off to Harry’s bedroom, laughing and joking around, and it isn’t until Louis jumps on top of Harry on the bed that the laughter dies out a bit and the mood turns more seriously.

 

“So,” Louis exhales, breathless. “How do you wanna do this?”

 

“Let’s take it slow,” Harry suggests, voice just as quiet and hoarse. “First video and all. How about I start recording, and then we can kiss until we feel comfortable enough to do something else?”

 

“Sounds perfect. You’re amazing.”

 

And… yeah. The kiss, and peel each other’s clothes off, item by item until all that’s left is soft, warm skin pressing against soft, warm skin. Louis is on top, pressing Harry into the mattress, not even thinking of the fancy camera recording his every move. It doesn’t matter—he doesn’t care. All he’s thinking about are the wonderful, breathless little moans and noises he evokes from Harry.

 

Together, they explore each other. It’s sensual and fucking hot, but above that, it’s romantic. And just… sweet. Louis has never had sex like this before, with someone so responsive and enthusiastic, someone who cares as much about kissing Louis’ cheekbones and jaw line as he cares about palming his crotch.

 

Louis spends a lot of time around Harry’s neck and shoulders, and then travels downward, to his tummy. He presses his fingers into Harry’s hips, kissing each individual scar from last week’s escapade—the whip that bruised and welted his petal perfect skin. Louis kisses, and licks, and sucks, exhaling his humid breath over the marks.

 

Harry moans in whines and keens, fingers entwined in Louis’ hair, not tugging or pulling, just there. Louis likes it, this gentleness, this veneration. He licks the ambrosial fragrance of Harry’s skin and presses him into the mattress until Harry begs him for more.

 

_More_ comes in the form of Louis wrapping his mouth around Harry, hollowing his cheeks, and sinking down until his nose presses to Harry’s tummy. Harry again twists his fingers in Louis’ hair, but still doesn’t pull. So gentle, and caring. His hips buck up involuntarily, against Harry’s greater restraint, and Louis swallows heavily, squeezing Harry’s hip to urge him on, telling him it’s okay if he moves.

 

It’s just, a lot. As everything with Harry is. A lot, but in a good way. Everything lovely. Everything amazing.

 

Louis doesn’t consider him a writer, but he knows he could write poetry about Harry. About the planes of his face, the bows of his cheeks glowing with sweat, the natural pink of his lips deepening with every touch. He knows he could write poetry about the way Harry’s eyelashes flutter like the wings of a moth. His green eyes, bright and steely and spirited. His pale English skin, white like snow. The red welts slowly fading, the pale purple bruises blossoming beneath. Every flaw another perfection.

 

So it doesn’t come as a surprise when the both of them forget that the camera is recording. When they both fall asleep afterwards, curled up together, stick and sweaty and all around messy, Harry’s face squished against the crook of Louis’ neck.

 

They wake up late the next day, skin stuck together, and laugh at the sight of the camera aimed at the bed, battery dead.

 

It isn’t a surprise, either, when, through dates and late nights spent studying together and videos made to be posted to the world, they fall in love.

 

No. It isn’t a surprise at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, thanks for reading! Leave a comment and I'll love you forever.
> 
> [Reblog the fic post](http://angelichl.tumblr.com/post/167359679554/bad-love-will-make-a-museum-of-you-by-angelichl)
> 
> [Find me here (tumblr)](http://angelichl.tumblr.com/)


End file.
